


When It's You

by MissNaya



Category: DCU
Genre: Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Kinda, Light Masochism, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Moral Dilemmas, No actual underage sex though, Past Underage, Pseudo-Incest, Self Confidence Issues, Topping from the Bottom, Underage Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 23:36:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9852065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya
Summary: Jason's had a bit of a crush on Bruce for years. He finally acts on it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to give brujay a try, particularly because a commenter suggested it to me a while back. I love this pairing, so I hope I did it justice!

Jason's problem started when he was about 14.

He always knew Bruce Wayne was an attractive man. He made it obvious enough whenever he flaunted himself in front of the press, women dangling off of each arm. It wasn't news to Jason. What _was_ news, however, was the way his stomach fluttered when Bruce brushed against him after a shower in the Cave.

 _Just nerves,_ he told himself at first, but it happened the next time, and the time after that, and whenever Bruce would quirk a shapely eyebrow and ask him what was wrong, Jason had to pray to gods he didn't believe in that his towel was loose enough to cover his growing problem. When he started to insist upon showering by himself, Bruce dismissed it as the normal progression of a teen boy's life.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Jason spent the next year or so of his (first) life alternating between ignoring the problem and agonizing over it. He couldn't even bear to call it what it was — even in the darkest recesses of his mind, late at night, it was just “the problem.” The problem that made his heart race whenever he saw Bruce smile. The problem that left him hot and sticky in his bed on nights after intense work-out sessions.

The problem that, when things got bad enough, found him with his face pressed against one of Bruce's discarded shirts, huffing open-mouthed against it while he jerked himself off.

It was sick. He knew that. He always knew he wasn't right in the head, and his feelings for Bruce — for his _adoptive father_ — only proved that. So he buried them deeper than the pilfered porn mags he kept under his bed, and never, ever brought them up to anybody.

And then he died.

* * *

 

For a long while after his resurrection, Jason no longer had to worry about his problem. He was angry enough at both Bruce and the world to put any thoughts of sex out of his head, and it wasn't the best time in his life, but that was one less issue he had to deal with when his mind was already a chaotic mess of pain and betrayal and Lazarus water.

Then, as soon as he started letting himself get close to his “family” again, it happened. Just like the first time, one errant graze of Bruce's hand over his lower back — not even purposeful, they'd just been standing too close — and Jason had felt that stirring in his gut all over again.

That time, when Bruce had shot him The Look, he didn't bother to make up excuses. He left the Cave, left Gotham, and didn't return until a case brought him back kicking and shooting.

He tried to tell himself it was nothing more than an errant childhood crush coming back to prod at his stunted hormones. It wasn't like he had the luxury of going through puberty like a normal person, after all. It was misguided lust, pure and simple, something he figured he could solve with a few drinks and the company of someone he met in a bar.

Spoilers: it didn't work. As if his life would be that easy.

Even with someone else's breath on his lips and perfume on his sheets, thoughts of Bruce fucking Wayne would still wander into Jason's thoughts from time to time. His strong hands, the hard line of his mouth, the way he'd look at him with something like approval whenever Jason fired a bullet at someone's leg and not their face. He'd wake from dreams, drenched and hard, with the words “ _Good boy_ ” still ringing in his head in Bruce's voice.

* * *

 

He still catches himself watching Bruce sometimes, even now. Whether they're fighting or strategizing or trying (and failing) to be cordial for Alfred's sake, Jason's intrusive thoughts always find their way to the surface sooner or later. Naturally, he still hasn't told anyone about them.

They catch up to him tonight, while he watches Bruce analyze some data on the Batcomputer. It's one of the rare times Jason's allowed himself to visit while Bruce is home, and he's regretting it already.

 _Get it together, Todd,_ he tells himself, fiddling with some test tubes containing important samples he risked life and limb to get. _Use his shit, then get out. You're not an idiot. This shouldn't take more than an hour, one and a half tops..._

He turns to grab another slide, only to come face-to-bat with Bruce's chest. He yelps, fumbling with the slide. It slips through his fingers, topples off the table, and shatters on the floor.

“Jesus _Christ,_ man! You don't get enough kicks doing that to Gordon?” he says, taking one offended step back. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to downplay how off-guard that caught him. “Almost knocked my whole set-up over.”

“You never did tell me what you were working on,” Bruce says nonchalantly, picking up Jason's notebook from the counter. Jason hastily tries to snag it back, but Bruce doesn't let go, and Jason doesn't tug harder for fear of ripping up important info.

“It's my business,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Don't you have work to do? More orphanages to pluck black-haired kids from, something like that?”

“My cave, my rules,” Bruce says, and Jason hates how _parental_ he sounds. (Hates especially how it sends a shiver down his spine.)

“You ask _Dick_ every detail of all of his cases?” he fires back. The look on his face must have gone really sour, because Bruce's grip lightens just enough for Jason to tug his notes back. He straightens them out with a huff.

“Jason, I—”

“Forget it.” He shrugs. “Nothing important, anyway. Should've used the lab a couple towns over, but I figured this'd be easier. Stupid me, right?”

Bruce says nothing, just lingers while Jason grabs another slide and squeezes some light purple liquid onto it. He purposefully doesn't move to clean the broken glass up. It's _Bruce's cave,_ so he can do it his damn self.

He has everything set up under the microscope when Bruce decides to start fucking up his life again.

“I noticed you staring,” he says, and Jason stiffens up noticeably. “If there's something you need help with—”

Jason snorts, both out of stress and because Bruce is so helpless when it comes to trying to talk to people in any capacity that isn't giving orders. “Not why I was doing it, but nice try.”

“You obviously can't concentrate on what you're doing,” Bruce says, in that know-it-all tone that Jason hates.

“Because I've got bats in my belfry,” Jason says, still squinting into the microscope. “Hard to concentrate with a giant gothic furry looking over my shoulder.”

“Jason.”

That tone means “be serious,” it means “you were distracted before I started looking at you,” it means “you know you're not getting out of this conversation that easily.” Jason hates how well he can read Bruce's tone, but it becomes kind of a requirement when you're dealing with someone so averse to conversation.

“That's my name,” he says, switching out his slide for one he'd prepared half an hour earlier. “Don't wear it out.”

“You'll make mistakes if you aren't careful,” Bruce says. “And I—”

“And you what?” Jason straightens up, squaring his shoulders to try and match Bruce's height. “And you don't wanna have to deal with me any longer than you already have?”

“That's not what I—”

“No, shut up.” He can see the way Bruce's mouth twitches in barely-concealed anger at that, which only encourages him to continue. “I bet if I were Dick Grayson, or Tim Drake, or even Damian fucking _Wayne,_ you'd let me work, no questions asked. Because they're the trustworthy ones, right? They're _family._ ”

Bruce's face, what he can see of it under the cowl, is heading firmly into “grimace” territory. He's clearly uncomfortable, but he tries, at least, to say, “We're—”

“No.” Jason holds up a hand (too close to Bruce's mouth), feeling his blood pressure rise with every passing second. “Don't say it.” His voice wavers, betraying far more emotion than he meant to display. “Do _not_ call us family.”

Bruce doesn't move much, doesn't really react, save for the brief downturn of his lips. It would be hardly anything on anyone else, but on Bruce, it's as good as if he'd shrunk back. Energized, Jason takes one step closer to him.

“I'm not your family,” he says, “I'm not.”

And then, for reasons unbeknownst to even himself, he throws his arms around Bruce's neck and kisses him.

Bruce is still as a statue, which makes it that much easier for Jason to put off thinking about why this is _wrong, wrong, wrong._ He sinks against him, sighing into his lips, which are clamped shut like a vice. But it's _Bruce,_ it's really his lips, chapped and warm, and he can smell him, musky and leathery, so much stronger from here, and _god,_ he understands why women fall all over him every chance they get. He wonders if men do, too, or if he's the first one Bruce has kissed.

Been kissed by.

Whatever.

He knows that this moment will be gone as soon as he pulls away, so he doesn't, pressing himself as close to Bruce as he can get without wrapping his legs around him. He runs a hand under the cowl to cup Bruce's cheek, press his fingertips against the short hairs at the back of his neck, and gnaws at his lower lip, hoping for just one small bit of reciprocation. He gets nothing, and then Bruce's hand is running up his chest, between their bodies, and he enjoys it while it lasts before getting pushed back.

“Jason,” he says, but his voice is measured. This time, when he says it, Jason isn't sure what he means.

They're both breathing heavily, he notices. He's so, _so_ tempted to go back for those lips now that they're parted, but he doesn't. He licks his own lips, savoring the lingering taste of Bruce on them.

“...Push me away,” he says after too long. Bruce's hand is still on his chest, so he arches his back against it. “If you don't want this, push me away. Kick me out. I'll go.”

Bruce doesn't move. “We can't do this, Jason.”

This time, the thing that stirs in Jason's chest feels suspiciously like hope. “We can't” is different than “I don't want to,” after all.

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“I'm an adult.”

“I raised you.”

“Not my whole life.” Jason's brow furrows, and he lets himself lean closer, lips just barely brushing against Bruce's when he talks. “Not enough to count.”

It's Bruce's turn to stiffen. “It counts.”

Jason huffs, long and harsh, curling his fingers so that his nails dig into Bruce's jaw. “Oh, _now_ it does? It only counts when you wanna use it against me? Not when I _needed_ you, no, not when I needed a _father—!_ ”

Bruce really does pull away after that. Jason lets him.

“I shouldn't have interrupted you,” Bruce says, voice so devoid of emotion that he may as well be one of the gargoyles he hangs out with every night. “I'll go. Finish what you were doing.”

“Forget it,” Jason says, making sure to ram Bruce with his shoulder when he storms past him. “I've got everything I need.”

He leaves.

* * *

 

They don't see each other again for a long while after that. Jason doesn't know if Bruce is avoiding him too; he can't bring himself to check in on what Batman's been up to long enough to confirm or deny one way or the other. He avoids the other bat-brats as well, cutting off his feed whenever one of their annoying voices chimes in his earpiece.

 _Family._ What a joke.

He finishes up in Gotham and then books it out of there for another few months. He thinks for a while that it might be time to forget about the East Coast altogether, move out west and get on Green Arrow's nerves for a change. He thinks that, but he can't bring himself to take the plunge. He's a drifter by heart, a street rat who wouldn't know what to do with a stable home if a billionaire came around and dropped one in his lap.

So, armed with that knowledge, he's not sure why he finds himself back in Gotham before fall's end.

It's a nice city, when you get past the grime and the disrepair and the GCPD's tendency to shine an ugly bat-shaped flashlight at the sky whenever they don't feel like doing their jobs. It's been years since he was living on its streets, but he still knows each one like the back of his hand. Sometimes it's nice to just grapple from rooftop to rooftop, figuring out what's gotten built and what's been torn down since he was here last.

Of course, you can't take two steps in Gotham without alerting the Bat that you're there. So Jason isn't all that surprised when he suddenly finds himself engulfed in a pointy-eared shadow.

“I haven't shot anybody,” he says by way of greeting. “Or stabbed anyone. I punched a guy, but he deserved it.”

“Why are you here?” Bruce asks.

“What, am I banned? Didn't get the memo.”

“You're not.”

Jason isn't sure if that's comforting or not. On the one hand, he expected Bruce to still be pissed about their last encounter. On the other, if he kicked everyone who forced a kiss on him out of Gotham, half the female hero and villain populations would be spandexing it up in Metropolis by now.

It's not the same with him, he knows that. But he doesn't have the energy to question it for now.

He pulls off his hood, lets it _clank_ to the concrete roof under his feet. “Mind if I smoke?” he asks, lighting up a cigarette before he gets an answer. It's all the same, because Bruce doesn't give him one.

Bruce lets him smoke half of it before he tries to talk again. “You know you're allowed here,” he says. It sounds like he's struggling to even get that much out. “As long as nobody dies.”

Jason huffs out a thick breath of smoke and rolls his eyes. For the first time since Bruce landed behind him, he turns his way. “Got it, _dad._ ”

The air turns heavy between them; Jason knew it would as soon as the word left his mouth. It frustrates him to no end, and it kills him that, even after everything, some of that frustration is still sexual. He should take another drag, should give himself something to do with his mouth that isn't talking, but Jason Todd rarely makes the smartest decisions.

“Don't worry; I know where I stand now. I'll always be the son you never wanted, the one you gotta grab by the ear for the rest of both our lives 'cuz you don't trust me as far as you can throw me.” He lets himself suck on the cigarette now, but his breath shakes on the exhale. “The 'troubled' one, is that right? 'Oh, that's Jason, sometimes he kills people and tries to make out with me, but you know how those street kids are'—”

“That's _enough._ ” Bruce takes a step closer to him, and Jason tries not to shrink back. “That's enough, Jason. I've never thought that of you.”

Jason stands up straight, fingers curled loosely around the filter of his cigarette, fixing Bruce with as blank a stare as he can muster. “Uh-huh, sure. You really expect me to believe that, when you got me flanked on either side with fucking prep school pretty boys? Bet neither of them ever locked lips with you. They'd never be that fucked up.”

He doesn't know why he keeps bringing it up, when Bruce seemed so content to let it drop. “Word vomit,” he thinks it's called, his feelings bubbling up whether he wants them to or not, thick and disgusting and pouring out of his mouth like he just ate a Big Mac from the bottom of a trash can. Even that would be preferable to talking to Bruce, though; dumpster diving never left quite this bad of a taste in his mouth.

“This isn't about them,” Bruce insists, but Jason throws down his cigarette and stomps it flat, cutting him off before he can say more.

“It's _always_ about them!” He's raising his voice now, all traces of humor gone from his tone, replaced with nothing but bile and rage. “You think I don't see how differently you look at them? The way you turn to me when one of them does something right, like, 'Why can't _you_ be like that, Jason?' You think I don't know how you feel? 'Cuz lemme tell you, I learned real early on what rich guys like you think of charity cases like me, and dressing up like a bat doesn't make you any less of a shallow, judgmental fuck!”

He's breathing heavily now. Bruce always gets him to this point, one way or another. But this time, Bruce is stock-still, not a single hint of how he's feeling written on his masked face.

“What? Got nothing to say? It's because I'm right, isn't it? All I am to you is that kid who keeps disappointing you over and over.”

“I'm _not_ disappointed in you, Jason,” Bruce says, and Jason hates, _hates_ the way he says his name.

“Don't lie to me,” he says. “Just for _once,_ could you say what you mean?!”

Bruce stares at him. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. He shuts his lips, and Jason chokes out a laugh.

“I knew it. Don't fucking talk to me at all if you can't nut up when things get hard.”

He bends over to pick up his hood, but when he goes to put it on, a hand grabs his arm. He turns back to see Bruce, deep frown lines cutting into his face.

“I'm not done here,” he says.

“Well, _I_ am. Let go of me, would you?” He tries to tug his arm back, but Bruce is unrelenting. “What, are you deaf? I said let _go!_ ”

He's almost happy Bruce doesn't, because that gives him a chance to slam his fist into his face. The next few moments are a blur. His hood falls to the ground with a _clank_ and rolls off, he's lifted off of his feet by two strong hands, and then, somehow, they're rolling on the ground, trading fists and knees until body armor starts to buckle under the force of it all. Jason's all blind fury, years' worth of ugly emotions all pouring out through via his blows, so it's only natural that someone as measured as Batman gets the upper hand. He finds himself pinned underneath Bruce, panting hard, the tang of blood strong in his mouth.

He stares up at Bruce, wrists digging into concrete on either side of his head, legs spread open with Bruce's knees digging into his thighs. He's dreamed of this exact position more times than he can count, and his body starts to react, much to his chagrin. He locks eyes with Bruce, hoping to keep his attention above waist-level.

“Jason,” Bruce says, and he notices Bruce's lips are bleeding, too. It fills him with a small bit of satisfaction.

“...You're going easy on me,” he says. He swallows a mouthful of blood. “Don't.”

“You want me to hurt you,” Bruce deadpans. “You think you deserve it, don't you?”

Jason cringes. “Why do you gotta choose right _now_ to finally remember people have feelings?”

Bruce tightens his grip on Jason's wrists, drawing out a sharp cry from him. He recognizes this technique: gradually upping the pain until he hears what he wants to hear. It's a tactic Bruce has always used on criminals, one that Jason particularly admired when he was Robin. He lets out a delirious laugh.

“You're gonna have to do better than that if you want me to talk, B.”

“I don't want to do this,” Bruce says, but that's all the warning Jason gets before he's flipped over.

Bruce pins his hands behind his back at an awkward angle; struggling only gets him to tighten his grip. His cheek digs into the rough concrete, and he knows already that it'll leave a mark. Bruce hovers over him, cape falling on either side of Jason to obscure half the city from his view. Like this, he can almost imagine they're alone together, away from the city, in their own private domain. A place where the rest of the world no longer exists.

“Better,” he grunts, “but you're still soft, old man.” He wants to see how far Bruce will go, how mad he can get, so Jason rocks back, grinding his ass up against Bruce's crotch. “ _Harder._ ”

Bruce stills again, silent for so long that Jason starts to wonder if this really is a dream. If it is, he's content to stay like this for as long as possible. Bruce is touching him, even if it hurts. He likes the attention. That's fucked up, isn't it?

Bruce answers for him. “I'm not going to hurt you,” he says. “You don't have to act like this.”

“Want to,” Jason insists. He's lightheaded, heart racing so fast that he can hear its unsteady beat in his inner ears. “And you wanna do it. I can feel it. Don't lie to yourself.”

“I don't.”

“You do.” Jason figures he's dug himself a big enough hole already, so he rocks back again, feeling nothing but armor. It still leaves him drunk. “You want to punish me, _daddy._ ”

They both gasp at that. Jason's the one who said it, but he still wasn't prepared for how hot it was, for how it made his dick twitch as soon as the words left his mouth. He wasn't prepared for _Bruce_ to react to it.

Bruce's hands slide off his wrists, and Jason just barely catches himself, ignoring the ache in his arms so he can push himself up. He turns and, without bothering to check Bruce's facial expression, slams their lips together a second time.

He still doesn't respond, but he's more slack, lips parted against Jason's own. Jason takes advantage of that quickly, shoving his tongue into Bruce's mouth, moaning into the kiss. He pulls him closer, spreading his legs, and much to his surprise, Bruce sinks down with him. He feels Bruce shiver — actually _shiver_ — under his touch.

He wraps his legs around Bruce's waist and rolls his hips, and that's the moment that Bruce chooses to pull away. A thick strand of bloody spit connects their lips, Jason looking up at Bruce through heavy lashes.

“...We can't,” Bruce says. Jason's getting really sick of hearing that.

“You never gave me a good enough reason last time,” he says, leaning forward to kiss the side of Bruce's mouth. “I want this. You want this. We're adults. Just fucking _let go_ for once in your life.”

“You're my son,” Bruce says, practically whispers, and Jason tugs them both down flat and rocks his hips again.

“Does that make you hot?” he asks. He kisses a wet line up Bruce's face, speaking low and sultry by the time he gets to his ear. “It's okay. You can tell me, daddy.”

Bruce huffs, slumps against Jason until his face is buried in his neck. Jason's never seen him like this before; it's absolutely intoxicating.

“It isn't right,” he says, and he sounds so fucking broken up about it that Jason almost feels bad.

Almost.

“You adopted me. We're not blood.” He strokes a hand down the back of Bruce's neck, over stiff leather and the dense curtain of his cape. “Not like you've been wanting this since I was a kid. Have you?”

“Of course not.” Bruce answers quickly, so scandalized that Jason knows he's telling the truth.

“Then it's fine.”

“It isn't.”

Jason takes him by the face, forcefully turns Bruce's head to look at him. He still can't get a perfect picture while Bruce has the cowl on, but it's something, at least.

“You could've stopped this whenever you wanted,” he says. “You still could. So you can either walk away right now and try to pick up what's left of your moral high ground, or you can stop trying to make me talk you through your issues and just _fuck me_ already.”

Bruce's breath catches in his throat. Neither of them move for a long moment, and for a second, Jason thinks he's one step away from shooting a line to lift him off this rooftop.

Then Bruce kisses him, and _oh,_ his head starts spinning.

He's still hesitant, like he might break Jason if he isn't careful, so Jason sets the pace himself. He resumes rocking his hips, rubbing his bulge against Bruce's cup so hard that it almost hurts. He likes the sting. He wonders if Bruce is hard underneath it, wonders how different he looks than when he's soft. Then Bruce swipes his tongue over the roof of Jason's mouth, and he shivers, going boneless against the concrete.

If he doesn't get some air soon, he'll pass out, so he turns his head and gasps in a few breaths. At the same time, he takes hold of Bruce's wrist and forces his hand down between their bodies.

“ _Touch me,_ ” he whispers. “C'mon...”

Bruce starts kissing his neck, heavy on top of him, and every graze of teeth sends Jason's head into the clouds. That gloved hand settles on top of his crotch, and Jason keeps his hand wrapped around his wrist, not stopping him, just holding on. When Bruce starts to rub him through his pants, he nearly sobs.

“Don't stop,” he says, the second he feels Bruce hesitate. “Jesus _fuck,_ Bruce, don't you dare fucking stop.”

Bruce's mouth covers his own, rough and unrelenting this time. It takes Jason's breath away, but he relishes in how it makes his head spin. By the time Bruce pulls away, Jason can't think well enough to speak.

“No names,” Bruce says, low and husky. “Not here.”

Jason would roll his eyes if he had the strength. _Of course that's what he's worried about._ But he just nods mutely.

Bruce goes back to kissing his neck, and Jason whines when his hand moves from his pants to his stomach, pushing up his shirt as it goes. Bruce tries to placate him with a swipe of his thumb, but it just makes Jason's muscles jump.

“We do what you want,” he says, “and _only_ what you want. I'll stop as soon as you tell me to. No questions asked.”

Jason groans, tossing his head from one side to the other in frustration. “I don't _want_ you to stop. God, I thought I could count on you of all people not to act like a fucking Boy Scout.”

“Things can change,” Bruce says. “Even if you don't think they will. I need to know you won't feel pressured to stay silent if I do something you don't like.”

“B,” Jason says, pushing himself up a bit to fix Bruce with a flat stare. “When have I _ever_ done something stupid like that?”

Bruce just gives him a Look. Jason relents, dropping back down with a sigh. “ _Fine._ I solemnly swear that I'll smack the shit out of you if you fuck up.”

“Thank you,” Bruce says. Jason is so taken aback by it that he shivers twice as hard the next time Bruce's tongue swipes over his neck.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes. “First order of business: go back to touching me.”

“I am,” Bruce says. If pinching someone's nipple can be cheeky, then he nails it.

Jason huffs and throws an arm over his eyes. “You know what I mean!”

“I didn't teach you to ask for things like that.”

Jason freezes again. He can feel Bruce pause over him, gauging his reaction. Jason licks his lips slowly and carefully.

“...Please.”

“There you go.”

Bruce drags his hand down Jason's stomach, cupping him through his pants again. It sends heat up Jason's spine that has him sweating already, even though the air around them is cool with the promise of an upcoming Gotham winter. He reaches up to tug at his cape, head lulled back to give Bruce more access to his neck.

“Want to see you too... 'S your cock hard, daddy? You hard for me?”

Bruce bites his neck to muffle a groan. Jason would give anything to know what's going through that head of his right now, but he settles for appreciating how Bruce's hand presses down hard and heavy against his crotch.

“That's a yes,” Jason says, and he manages to smirk, even though he feels more overwhelmed than he's felt in years. “Lemme see it. You have no _fucking_ idea how long I've wanted to suck your cock, B...”

“Language,” Bruce says, one second before catching Jason's lips with his own.

His hand leaves Jason's crotch again, only to undo the Velcro on one of Jason's gloves and pull it off. Then it's gone again, and Jason hears the _click_ and _hiss_ of some of the catches on Bruce's suit coming undone. He tugs him by the wrist, and Jason feels warm, hard flesh under his palm. He sighs into the kiss, wrapping his fingers around Bruce's cock without being prompted. Regardless, Bruce keeps his hand on top of Jason's own, guiding him up and down at a slow, steady pace.

He's fucking huge. Bigger than he is soft, that's for sure. Not as big as in some of Jason's wilder fantasies, but with his legs spread and his hand around it, it's still bigger than Jason thinks he might be able to take. He doesn't think of himself as a masochist, but the idea of Bruce holding him down and pushing in anyway makes his head spin with desire. He tries to speed up, but Bruce's hand keeps him steady. He huffs out a breath through his nose.

“...Ah.” He pulls away from the kiss to look down between their bodies, forehead flush against Bruce's collar plate. It's a little too dark to see all the details, but he catches the way Bruce's foreskin pulls up over the head of his cock on every upstroke. His mouth waters. “Lemme suck you. God, B, you're so fuckin' hot, just lemme get on my knees and show you how we do it down in the Narrows. Ever fucked a guy's mouth, huh? Ever got a BJ from street trash?”

He doesn't think anything of the self-degradation — mostly finds it hot because it'd be prissy socialite Bruce Wayne's cock in his filthy fucking mouth — but Bruce doesn't seem to see things the same way. He grabs Jason's wrist, pulling the both of them up into a sitting position.

“That's not what you are,” he says into Jason's ear, low and reassuring and holy shit, Jason wasn't ready for the way that made his heart jump up into his throat. “You're Jason Todd. You're my boy.”

“...Jesus. I dunno if you're awful at dirty talk or great at it, old man.” He pulls away, thankful that the roof is too dimly-lit for his blush to be visible. “But if you wanna keep saying my name like that, I'm on board.”

Then he bends down and takes Bruce's cock into his mouth. It feels even bigger now than it did in his hand, stretching his jaw out to accommodate it. The thickness gets him more than anything, but he sinks down into Bruce's lap anyway, managing to avoid nicking him with his teeth for the most part. When he does slip up, Bruce's gasp doesn't sound all that pained, and he tucks that information away for later.

It doesn't take long for him to establish a rhythm. Once he gets most of Bruce's cock nice and lubed up with spit, it's easy to slide up and down, sucking him hard. Bruce's hand is on the back of his head, just sitting there, too comforting for Jason's tastes. He pulls off with a _pop,_ looking up at Bruce with wide blue eyes.

“I thought this was gonna be a punishment, daddy,” he says, poorly feigning innocence. “You're not going easy on me again, are you?”

Bruce's jaw sets in a way that has Jason's mouth watering some more. He doesn't speak, but he grabs Jason by the hair and forces him back down, pulling a pleased yelp from Jason's throat. His eyelashes flutter, and he moves back and forth even faster, encouraging Bruce to set a similar pace.

It takes a moment, but soon, he's hardly moving at all, letting Bruce fuck his mouth with a sort of practiced roughness. He's still holding himself back, he can tell, but it's a hell of a lot better than it was a moment before, so Jason won't complain. He whines and whimpers around Bruce's cock, the bottom half of his face slick with drool. Here, with his hair a mess and his cock straining in his pants, gravel cutting into his palms and knees aching in protest, he finally feels calm. Fucking around with someone, someone who's really good, is like being in the heat of battle: once you get going, you don't have to think any more. You let your body react to what's happening, relying on instinct more than anything else.

He could fucking come like this if Bruce let him.

But he doesn't. He pulls out, letting the tip of his cock drag across Jason's cheek before he pulls him up by his hair. Jason feels like a rag doll, falling heavily against Bruce once he's up on his knees. He scrabbles to hold onto him, but all he can find is smooth armor. Bruce practically cradles him, pulling him onto his lap with his arms wrapped around him.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and it's caring and concerned and so far from Bruce that it almost upsets Jason. When has he ever deserved to be treated like this?

Still, he answers, “ _Yes,_ ” arching his back to encourage Bruce to touch his neglected ass.

He does, pressing two large palms against Jason's backside. He lets his entire upper body sag against Bruce, lets him do what he wants. He's sweating and he's overwhelmed and his throat hurts in a way that makes him crave more, and he holds onto Bruce as best as he can while muttering encouragements in his ear.

“Want you to be rougher with me, god, I can take it, come on, B, just fuckin' punish me...” He whimpers when Bruce undoes his pants and slides his fingers against bare skin. “I need it. You don't fuckin' know how much I need this.”

“Shh,” Bruce tells him. “Shh.”

Too-gentle hands guide him down, prop him up so that his ass sticks up in the air. His face flushes, and he presses it purposefully against the concrete, shuddering at the feeling of little rocks cutting into his skin. Bruce strokes his ass almost reverently, then yanks his pants down around his thighs, and— _Oh, god,_ he laves his tongue right over Jason's hole.

“P-please...! _Daddy...!_ ” He arches his back, feels Bruce huff out a harsh breath against his skin. He rocks his hips, and when Bruce's tongue slowly works its way inside, he officially loses it. Tears gather on his lashes, a product of too much fucking sensation, and he reaches back to tangle his fingers haphazardly in Bruce's cowl, pulling him closer. “Oh, my god. Oh, god, _yes._ Oh, that feels so good... _Deeper._ F-fucking deeper, _please...!_ ”

Of course, there's only so far Bruce can go with his tongue, so he presses a finger — bare, when did that happen? — against Jason's hole. He pauses for a moment, as if asking permission, and when all Jason does is moan, he slowly presses it in. He works it around alongside his finger for a moment, then draws his mouth away completely once the digit is far enough in.

“Like that... _Yeah,_ like that,” Jason murmurs, rocking back against Bruce's hand. “Am I good? Is this good, daddy? Tell me you like it. Tell me it makes you hot, B, god's _sake._ ”

“You look so good like this,” Bruce says, and Jason's surprised by the depth of feeling in his words. “It's hard to— I like it. I like it more than I should.”

Jason tries to laugh, but it comes out too breathy. “St-still hung up on it, aren't you, old man? How dirty you are. Makes your little boy's cock fuckin' throb.”

“Jason,” Bruce threatens, but Jason doesn't listen.

Jason never listens.

“You been thinkin' about this since that time in the Cave? Huh? You been thinkin' about it as much as I have?” He presses his hips back for a good few seconds, encouraging Bruce to stroke deep against that spot inside him. He speaks on the tail end of a moan. “How... how good it felt? How much you wanted me? Say you want me, B, say it...”

“I want you,” Bruce says, draping himself over Jason so he can say it as quietly as possible. “I want you, Jason.”

Jason gets hit with a fresh wave of arousal, and he throbs around Bruce, opening his mouth in a silent scream. “More. Show me. Gimme your cock, then.”

“No.” Bruce nips his ear, and he whines. He slides another finger in, just as torturously slow as before.

“I can take it!”

“ _No,_ ” Bruce insists, spreading his fingers carefully. “Not yet.” Jason can hear him lick his lips and then swallow. “Be a... good boy for me. Be patient. Won't you do that, Jason?”

The hesitation is a far cry from Jason's fantasies, but something about it just makes the whole situation even hotter. He bites his lip and nods.

“Mhm.”

“My good boy.”

Bruce presses a kiss to the back of his head near his hairline, thrusting his fingers with just a little more force behind them. He hits Jason's prostate over and over — no, practically _massages_ it, using slow, full strokes. It's nothing like he's ever felt before. It leaves him gasping and clawing at the ground, certain that, at any moment, he'll burst.

“B, please... I-I dunno how much longer I can keep this up,” he says eventually, legs shaking with the force it takes him to hold himself upright. “Please, I... Daddy? Haven't I been good?”

“You've been wonderful,” Bruce says, and Jason sighs. “But I don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't,” Jason says, too fast. “No one can.”

“Don't lie to your father,” Bruce says, softly. Then he pulls his fingers out and lifts Jason up. Jason slumps against him again, slack-jawed and breathing heavily.

He must look like quite a sight now, but he can't bring himself to care. Bruce brushes a few stray bits of gravel from his cheek and threads his fingers through his hair.

“Can you use your mouth on me?” he asks. “Get me nice and wet again, like you did before?”

Jason wants to lash out, wants to tell Bruce he doesn't need to be treated with such sensitivity, but instead, he just nods. “I can.”

“Good.”

He finds himself level with Bruce's cock again, and licks up his shaft almost reverently. Now that he's free, he starts to set his own, quicker pace, and Bruce lets him do it, encouraging him with that hand on the back of his head once more. He really does wonder how brutal Bruce could get if he let himself, but he's already gotten so much from him tonight that he doesn't want to push too hard and lose it all. Still, he makes sure to take Bruce all the way into the back of his throat, a subtle _“Look how much I can handle.”_

Bruce grunts in satisfaction, but when he pulls Jason up off of him, he's no rougher. He tugs Jason's pants and boots the rest of the way off with just as much care as before, while Jason clings to him like he's afraid Bruce will run off if he doesn't. Then he's distracted by a flourish of black, and when he's lowered onto his back, he realizes Bruce has laid his cape down for Jason.

What a gentleman.

Any clever quips he might have die in his throat, however, when Bruce nudges between his legs and presses the head of his cock up against Jason's hole.

“Remember,” he says, “we can stop whenever you want.”

“For the love of _fucking_ god, B, if you don't get inside me _right now,_ I am going to scream your real name at the top of my god damn lungs.”

That must hit a nerve, because Jason's sure Bruce could've shoved in a little more gently if he really wanted. Still, finally feeling Bruce inside of him, even if it's only a little bit of him, has him mewling in pleasure. It's an embarrassing sound, and the way he clings to Bruce's shoulders is far too needy, but right now, he couldn't give less of a fuck.

Bruce kisses his neck. “Better?”

“Yeah...”

He starts to rock his hips, hands cupping Jason's thighs, and they're not nearly as lubed up as they probably should be, but the pain dazzles Jason's nerves like a million little static shocks.

“I shouldn't reward you for bad behavior,” Bruce says, almost to himself. “What are you doing to me, Jason...?”

Jason grins. He lifts his legs to wrap them around Bruce's waist, encouraging him to go deeper. “Careful, B. It's not too late to spoil me.”

“I don't think you realize how much I already have.”

Jason raises a brow at that, but he doesn't have time to ask about it, because Bruce is biting his neck and burying himself to the hilt at the same time. He throws his head back and moans, so loud he thinks he can hear it echo off of the nearby buildings. They're in a more or less isolated part of town, but the thought crosses his mind that someone could very well peek out and see Batman making Red Hood scream like a common whore. He shudders, rocking his hips in time with Bruce's thrusts.

“Nnh— Like that, wait— _Yeah,_ like that, B.” The air is thick with sex, obscene with the sound of their bodies writhing together. It's a heady combination, made all the more tantalizing every time he hears Bruce's breath hitch. “Am I good? Are you gonna come? Do you wanna come in my ass, daddy?”

 _Bingo._ There's that little, stuttering noise from the back of Bruce's throat, again. “ _Jason,_ ” he breathes. “Jason, please.”

“Please what? Too much talk for you? That's okay. I don't mind being the only one to speak up,” he says, and it's way too true. “Just listen, daddy. Just say yes or no. You like it when I call you daddy?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone ever call you daddy before?”

“Not like this.”

“Just me? Just your Jay?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“You like doing this for me? Like— nngh— making me happy?”

“Yes, Jason, yes...”

“Wanna make me come?”

“Yes.”

“Wanna come in me? In my ass?”

Bruce's rhythm stutters, but he recovers quickly. “Yes.”

“Ooh, fuck.” Words are coming harder for Jason now, and he thunks his head down against the concrete. Even Bruce's cape can't dull the blow too much. He sees stars in his eyes, but he doesn't think it's from head trauma. “Do it, then, daddy. Come inside me.” He writhes around, one hand holding Bruce's head close, the other tangling up in his cape. “I'm gonna _fucking_ come, daddy, and you're gonna make me. You want that?”

“Yes, yes, Jay, _yes,_ my beautiful boy, so proud of you...”

All of Jason's bravado drains out of him in an instant, and his legs twitch violently around Bruce's waist. He lets out a startled noise and, _Jesus_ fuck, starts to come even before Bruce can wrap his hand around his cock. The praise washes over him and sinks into his mind like a drug, and he replays that sentence over and over again in his mind while his body deals with the most intense orgasm he's ever experienced.

It isn't until his ears stop ringing that he realizes he's whining helplessly, hands shaking where they hang onto Bruce and his cape. Bruce is going slower, now, but harder and somehow even deeper, and Jason feels so, _so_ full, better than he's ever felt in his life. Bruce is nowhere near as loud as he is, but he hears his breath get more and more ragged until finally, he stills, spilling himself inside of Jason.

Jason can't tell how long they stay entangled like that, sweat rapidly cooling and hearts trying their best to get back to a normal rhythm. He just knows that when Bruce finally pulls out, he feels empty in more ways than one.

He expects Bruce to immediately start pulling himself back together. He doesn't. (Jason wouldn't have gotten off of his cape even if he did.) Instead, he lies next to Jason, breathing hot and damp against his temple. He doesn't speak until Jason's breathing evens out.

“...Are you alright?”

Jason half-scoffs, half-chuckles. “My face got down and dirty with the concrete, I can't feel my legs, and I probably won't be able to sit for a week.”

Bruce stiffens, and when Jason turns to look at him, he actually seems genuinely concerned. It's a bad look for him. Jason lifts a heavy hand to flick his nose, even though the pointed edge of the cowl pokes right under his nail.

“Which means that was the most fun I've had in years.”

Bruce relaxes, though not by much. Jason never expected him to.

“That's... good to hear.”

Jason hums, and they fall silent for another few moments. It's only when a cool breeze gusts over his bare lower half that he summons up the energy to speak again.

“B?”

“Hmm?”

“I think I leaked cum on your cape. How much does it cost to dry-clean?”

“...Keep it.”

Jason does.

 


End file.
